Category: Writing to Prompts

  • Writing to Prompts 31 January 2026

    Writing to Prompts 31 January 2026

    Christian Sarti held space and suggested three prompts at our last session. The first line of each flash fiction short is the prompt.

    All prompt writing below is by Sue Hall

    The stranger handed me the key to navigate time and the first place I chose to go was to my garden in 2056. I thought 30 years would be enough time for my trees to grow and for me to see who was tending them. 

    Landing in spring, 30 years ahead I took my healthy 70 year old body into a place where if I was still alive I would be about to turn 100. The hill I live on has not changed significantly. The house I own is still there, well cared for, and unbelievably I am there sitting on a rock watching my friend Christof tending my forest garden we planted together in 2025. 

    He is nearing 70 but he has clearly still been tending and pruning the fruit trees. The red apple we planted is doing well. The almond trees lie heavy with white blossom. The pomegranate is huge maybe 20 feet high. A ladder lies nearby where an adventurous gardener can climb and collect fruit when in season. 

    It is weird watching myself, examining the garden. With some courage I make my way to the rock and sit next to my 100 year old self and we hold hands. Neither of us have much to say other than a nodding gratitude for the me that planted and the me that tends the space. Christof laughs and says; “I knew you would always be present but now with two of you we can plant more, weed more and laugh at what the last 30 years has meant. To us who have ignored the drama we have been a balm to the world through creating a garden. Come and see the dragon fruit forest we thought of making. It is now here. Come and see the vegetables you wanted to test out. All is abundant.”

    Ends

    With my responsible self officially on strike for the day I decided to fly to Finland and watch White Nights. Years ago I sat on a beach in Russia watching the colours in the sky, but I can’t go back there. But I could be on the other side of the border and look at the same sky. I would stay in a cabin with a sauna attached and perhaps venture out naked and try and catch the deep flourescent greens and reds blending with the whiteness of the night. 

    We stayed up all night in Russia as it didn’t get dark and I would do that again. We were collaborators on a project back then, all idealistic hippy types, grateful for the sensation of light when there should be dark at 2:00am. A lot of vodka was drunk and we told the world we would change it. 

    We changed ourselves. It would be good to catch that energy now and always be on strike. Perhaps I can go there in my mind as snow and ice and the journey was not easy back then and now will, probably be even more of a challenge. It is good to travel through the sky of White Nights in my mind. 

    Ends

    My physical body has its own voice and today it is asking to stretch, not just my arms and legs but my torso and more importantly my mind. 

    The voice is friendly, appreciating any little movement and effort. It attempts encouragement and then raises its voice as I head for the sofa. “No, you don’t need to do that,” it says with a gentle laughing lilt. “Get your yoga mat and lay it flat and switch on your Apple fitness App that you have paid for since last May and pull out the cobwebs for lack of use.” 

    “You will feel better,” the voice says as I lay down bending my knees up to my chest. I repeat the effort saying to myself to deafen out the voice. I WILL FEEL BETTER.

    The voice quietens into a giggle and then a deeper laugh. “You can do it,” it encourages as I lay on my tummy and then as I attempt to salute the sun with one arm raised the voice says “do it again tomorrow.” 

  • Trees – Sharings from 2 August 2025 writers group

    Trees – Sharings from 2 August 2025 writers group


    The prompt for all three shares was created by Christian Sarti.
    As I walked through the forest, I realised the trees were watching me kindly.

    Christian Sarti’s share:
    As I walked through the forest, I realized the trees were watching me kindly.

    I love this forest, but it was the first time I so clearly felt the presence of the trees around me.

    I looked around. Each and every one of them was completely unique.

    It was as if I were seeing them for the very first time.

    I had stopped seeing “the forest.”

    Now I was seeing each individual tree, and each tree was connecting with me.

    I could feel energy waves flowing towards me from all of them — huge ones, small ones, and tiny ones, surrounding me on every side.

    There seemed to be threads of glittering light, waves of energy connecting each tree to all the others —

    an amazing web of energies.

    I had just become one of them.

    I had been welcomed into their midst.

    Gradually, I felt all these loving, kind rivulets of energy merging with me, making me more than I had ever been.

    My heart opened in ecstatic waves towards these tree beings —

    and also towards the Mother, Mother Earth, and the fiery presence of the life-giving Sun.

    I was a tree,

    a truly galactic being.


    Francoise Ducroz’⁩ share also on her website

    Earlier today, on my daily walk through the woods, I noticed the trees were watching me kindly.

    Calling
    Welcoming
    Here, Human, come, come near
    Look closely
    Here, Human, glimpse around
    Touch and smell truly
    Here, Human, listen with all your heart.

    Come, sit and stay a while.

    I slowed down my pace, sensing the forest’s palpable pull.
    I sat at the feet of a young poplar, vibrant with sap, eager to reach high, the light playing with the rich shades of green of its leaves.
    Leaning against it, I closed my eyes to listen to the sounds of the forest while the trees in the small clearing bent their gaze towards the creature in their midst.
    After a while, I couldn’t say how long, I knew they would allow me to ask the question I’ve wanted an answer to since I was a child.

    ” Trees, please tell me.

    How are we the same? We, Humans and you, the powerful guardians of the land?”

    My silent query traveled through the veils that separate our kind from the living world we inhabit, and before too long, the answers came, softly, from the circle’s edge.

    We look alike, standing tall, roots, trunk, branches, leaves and canopy.
    We are born of the infinite small to grow strong and tall.
    We mature, change, and evolve. We become.

    We sway in the storms. We obey the seasons.

    Like you, we give comfort.
    We offer shade, food and shelter to those who come to us.

    Then, when the time comes, we fall
    And return to the earth
    And, like you, Humans, we leave a trace, for a while.

    Rest a while, Child, you are safe and welcome here.


    Sue Hall’s share

    As I walked through the forest, I realised the trees were watching me kindly. It reminded me of a time when I visited Skyros, a Greek island and learned how to connect with a tree. In that long-forgotten memory, we sat under an old olive tree and listened. I had not connected directly with a tree in a while
    So I tried to connect in this forest. I sat down with my back to a large redwood and listened. Nothing came, but just as I thought I would move on, I sensed movement in my third eye, and I breathed into it and relaxed. The redwood thanked me for breathing gentle love into its fibrous trunk as I touched it and ran my hand slowly down to the heavy roots. Waiting silently, the tree seemed to glisten, and I noticed a kind of sap or dew on its bark. Were they tears, I wondered? The Redwood spoke one word as I touched the small drop of liquid. It said ‘Grace.’ I felt blessed, as if receiving holy water, and wondered what I could offer the tree. The redwood spoke again and said, ‘You have already given what we need, which is love.’ 

    I closed my eyes and allowed a more profound connection to flow in. It was as if I had received a conscious message from the tree.

    ‘Sit quietly under every tree that calls to you and even those that don’t, and share a moment of love. Let it be a prayer to the earth, a way to connect with the subtle beings and open hearts. Forget the mind, you will get tied up in drama and knots. Now, start a daily practice and find a tree that will allow you to be invigorated while giving yourself the joy of connection.’

  • THE SADDLE

    by Françoise Ducroz

    Stepping out of the Three Moors Hotel before dawn, she headed outside town where the young apprentice said the Master lived. Her step was resolute; she was finally meeting the unequaled
    saddlemaker of the Atlas mountains.


    Troubled, she had traveled for days on an elusive search and had often questioned its wisdom.


    ” No more what-ifs,” she thought. ” As in my dreams, my steps have led me to the desert, and now I must trust the way.” She pressed on.


    The Master had agreed to see her and entrust her with his masterpiece. A saddle so delicate, so finely crafted, a leather so soft to the touch, adorned with gleaming gems the color of warm sand and night sky. But most of all, the Master’s saddle would fit only the fairest and most valiant horse. A steed that would know the way back to the temple, and the old Master knew where the
    animal was grazing.


    So much depended on the success of her sacred journey. The people did not know, but the old Master understood.


    Today, she would receive the saddle and pledge to return it, her duty faithfully met. The golden horse would take her to the buried site. She didn’t know how long it would take, but she knew
    that while riding, she must sing the words of the forgotten tongue, so unfamiliar to her ears, that she had memorized.


    The horse, the saddle, and her chant were the gifts required by the ancient stones to set the people free and heal their self-inflicted wounds.


    So, she was ordered; her purpose clearer than ever, her intent sharper than she had ever known. About to meet her fate, with bread and water for a few days, she stopped an instant and asked for a blessing. Then hurried again. The old Master and the Akhal Teke mare were waiting.

    326 words _ Short short story _ Françoise Ducroz